


Castratikron

by banerising



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Castration, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Object Insertion, Sexual Sadism, Sexual Torture, Torture, extreme sadomasochism, non-con/rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banerising/pseuds/banerising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has been kidnapped by the Metal Masked Assassin. What lies inside the fic is not for the faint of heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castratikron

**Author's Note:**

> lumineaux is a great new friend I have. Honest to God, do not read this if you cannot handle sexual torture. Or descriptive torture.

Setting was important. Anywhere would do, but the _fear_ was essential. Setting played its part. The dank basement was just right. No one would hear them, the above building was abandoned. Two trees of work lights pointed to the tarp hung across the back wall to section off the area. It had to be intimate. His tools were laid out, the five bodies, now hoodless, were strung up facing the man strapped to the hand-truck with ratchet straps and duct tape. He wanted him to see his little workers crushed and mangled. When he was sure the setting was right, he was ready to start. Picking up a bucket of frigid water, he dowsed the restrained man, this murderer, and turned back to look over his tools. " **W A K E  U P**."

 

He was having a good meeting, everything went well and perfect and Charles was confident that everything was just going to go right. He was walking back with his low security team to the jeep for the long ride back home when the attack happened. Charles had been caught completely off guard and when the world went black, all he could really think was how inconvenient this was to the band and how it'll just make things unnecessarily messy for him.

 

In his forced rest, Charles looked peaceful oddly enough. But as soon as the freezing water hit his skin, he gasped awake and quickly shifted to try and shake it off but no such luck. He was restrained. He blinked blearily, realizing that his glasses were broken and askew-- Charles had to stop himself from groaning. Another pair this week alone. But the voice. The familiar, deep, throaty voice drew him into the reality of the situation. Charles looked at the Klokateers sadly, he wished he didn't have to see it but death was something he was familiar and ultimately okay with.

 

"Good job, you caught me." Charles said, sounding only mildly irritated. "Did you plan this yourself, or was there, ah, somebody there to help?" There was an insult hiding somewhere in his question.

 

Pulling off the gloves, the metal-masked man turned slowly back to Ofdensen, empty-handed. The tools could wait. He stepped forward and pulled the glasses off of the other man, tossing them to the concrete floor. "There were others, but they're gone now." One large hand wrapped around Ofdensen’s neck, squeezing, then slid down over a bare torso. He'd stripped him before restraining him. It was easier this way. "It's only you and me, now. I'm going to take **my timmmmmme** with you." He dragged his nails across Offdensen's chest, pulling up beads of blood, an excitement rising up in him. He was going to tear this man apart.

 

Staring at the bastard with the silver face, he watched him pull the gloves off and when he turned around to... Nothing in his hands, Charles frowned. This was much different than he had intended it to be and he struggled a little as he came to the swift realization that he was stripped and tied down with duct tape.

 

This was bad.

 

Charles glanced up as soon the big guy came closer, speaking to the manager and grasping at his neck and squeezing harsh enough to cut off breath. He was proud of himself for not panicking and as soon as his throat was free, Charles swallowed. He was fairly glad that his glasses were gone, they were broken anyway-- he could see clearly still, since his glasses were mostly for long distance sight.

 

The way the other growled deep and low, Charles shifted and shot a glare at him but his anger is soon dashed away and instead, a cry of pain caught in his throat and came out in a low whine as he felt the nails in his chest. He could feel the air hit his new wounds and he struggled. "You're going to let me go," Charles snapped.

 

A laugh, a genuine laugh, like an engine sputtering, left the large man. "Am I? No, I think not. Maybe when you have no more strength, when your legs are broken, I'll cut you free and let you die on the floor, but that's going to be a very... very... long time from now." The first punch opened a small cut across Charles' cheek, the next catching him across the nose, then the chin. "What scares you more? To feel pain, or to die?"

 

The laugh caught him off guard, but he recovered quickly and tried not to feel the fear that was starting to come. He listened to what the Assassin had to say, getting ready to scoff at the whole situation but the mention of how far away that could all be did bring a new pulse of fear into his veins. He expected the pain, Charles had to expect the pain with the Assassin—he just didn't expect the punch to be to his face.

 

He made a low noise of pain and pulled against his restraints again. "Neither." Charles answered and turned his head back to glare at the bigger man, spitting on him. "You certainly don't scare me."

 

The spit gave him pause, but he found himself more amused, almost giddy. He had **fantasized** about hurting Ofdensen, had dreamt up so many ways to make him feel pain, and now he could. Let him be obstinate, disrespectful, uncooperative... He'd still bleed. Without saying a word, the assassin pulled a switch blade from his pocket, plucked one of Ofdensen’s earlobes between thumb and forefinger, pulling it away from his head, and sliced up from under the lobe, through the shell of cartilage, leaving a third of it and discarding the rest to the floor.

 

Rather proud of the fact that he gave the big guy a pause, Charles shifted slightly and tested the tape on his legs. The very minor pain of a few of his hairs being pulled was nothing but an irritation. Although, all of that was quickly forgotten as he felt the knife against his ear, his eyes went wide and the pain was sickening. He could _hear_ the knife, the way it scraped against the cartilage and he could hear screaming.

 

It took Charles feeling breathless to realize that **he** was the one screaming. He had gone completely still so that the knife wouldn't do any more damage before he looked at the Assassin with a sharp, dark yet fearful look. He looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out and instead he set his jaw and just glared.

 

The look was all he needed, grinning. It looked wrong, as if a grin was foreign to his face. "If you could see your face right now..." He turned back to his tools, returning to Charles with a heavy pair of pliers. He pinched a chunk of his stomach with them, first, mashing the skin between metal. "What first? Toes or fingers?"

 

Swallowing thickly as he saw the other man, Charles resigned himself to his fate. He hoped and prayed that the boys wouldn't try to find him, it would only lead to their doom. He also quietly cursed the fact that he didn't have his cyanide tooth anymore.

 

He was too wrapped up in his own head for a moment, so all he heard was a vague comment, then the assassin's large back was turned to him. When he came back with the pliers, Charles glanced at them before looking into the Assassin's eyes.

 

The first pinch had him arching as much as he could and squirming while he bit harshly on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming. He pulled against the restraints again and growled angrily at the Assassin's question. "Your brother died in the most fucking humiliating way, and then we blamed him for embezzling from Dethklok!" Charles spat out, deciding to try and make the Assassin wildly angry so he would make a lapse in judgement. Any weakness would be a good weakness for Charles to be able to get out of this situation.

 

The pliers let go and found new purchase on a nipple, twisting, pulling, tearing. "I'd think twice before taunting me. I'll cut out your tongue." He let go of the now bleeding nipple and let out a small sigh. "Fingers, then." Stepping to the side, he fit the pliers around Ofdensen’s left pinky, between the first and second knuckle, squeezed, gripped harder, and _crunch_.

 

Fear twisted in his gut before the pliers gripped his nipple. Charles inhaled sharply and tried to break his feet free. Nothing was working, there was a hell of a lot more pain with his nipple being twisted like this. Charles moaned in pain, shrinking away from the pain as much as he could before it was released and he panted heavily as the Assassin decided that it was his fingers to go first.

 

Panic froze Charles' veins over, he watched in terror as the pliers grabbed his pinky finger and as soon as the metal started to apply pressure, Charles let out a strangled "wait" but soon the pliers crunched down and snapped the bone. He screamed again and struggled really hard not to writhe.

 

Somewhere deep within him, he recognized that he was getting rather excited about the pain. His body confused by all of it and rushed to release some sort of endorphin— Charles felt shame heat up his face and he struggled again. "Toes. Toes." He breathed quickly, "please?"

 

The plea gave him such satisfaction. Already, he was breaking. The assassin was almost disappointed. Almost. He smashed the tip of the pinkie, cracking the nail, before he knelt down and grasped the second toe of Charles right foot with his hand, pulled it back to snap the joint, and then twisted. Especially from this vantage point, he did not miss that the other seemed to be enjoying this, somehow. It wasn't uncommon. Pain and pleasure ride a similar spectrum, he'd killed men with raging hard-ons before. Perhaps this could get interesting. He moved to the next toe. Pulled it back. Twisted.

 

Charles' train of thought had been, he can walk as long as he had most of his toes functioning, he could not fight if his hands were broken to shit and back. He was trying to strategically get the Assassin to focusing on anything but his hands for now.

 

The feeling of the tip of his finger being smashed had tears spring to his eyes and he twisted his hand, which was a mistake but like he was going to let this fucker know. He felt shame when the man leaned over him like that, clearly seeing what all of this was doing to Charles-- but he felt the fingers on his toe, he was prepared for the pain but he still let out a low whimper. The next snap had him twitching in pain. "You're never going to be able to kill them," he breathed angrily. "Never."

 

He made no response, smashing the nail of the big toe and then going to his tools again. He returned with tape, tore off a piece, and stretched it out under Charles' dick, taping it upwards to his stomach. He tossed the tape on the ground and then produced a roll of fishing wire from his pocket, pulling off a long piece, and began to wrap it around Charles' balls, pulling it tight, cutting into the skin. He secured it with several knots. "I'll cut them off later." Back to the tools. "Without you, Dethklok is unprotected. It's only a matter of time."

 

He was less prepared for the other man to smash his big toe like that and cried out in pain. Charles absolutely **hated** himself because he can feel himself leaking onto his own stomach. God what an embarrassment.

 

He took the time of the Assassin being away from him to think about anything else, to give himself some time to just clear his head from the pain and focus on the fact he was going to get out, on his own terms.

 

Suddenly the Assassin was standing back over him, tapping his cock to his stomach. Fuck, he hated that the other even gave it any attention. The fishing wire had him panic a little but as soon as the wire went around his balls, he grimaced but decided he could ignore the cutting pain. Cut— cut what off later? This is not how he wanted this to go down.

 

Charles turned his head, blinking away the shamed tears and steeled himself, having been given time he rebuilt what walls he could. "You, ah, you forget that I'm not the only thing that stands in your way of getting to them."

 

The assassin looked at Ofdensen, then pointedly back at the five dead Klokateers behind him. He turned, grabbing a box cutter from the rack of tools. "Yes, you are." He pushed the blade of the box cutter out only a millimeter or two, jammed it into Ofdensen’s chest, raked it down, repeating the process in narrow rows six times. They were shallow, clean cuts. He turned the blade and made a seventh incision across the top of all six. The pliers returned. He had to dig and pull to get a good grip on one of the strips of flesh, but once he had, he yanked downward with all his strength, the skin ripping away, left to hang and bleed.

 

Charles looked at the five dead men, once again feel terrible for the way they lost their lives but he couldn't let himself get wrapped up in it right now. He forced himself to look at the other man before he saw the box cutter. Charles steeled himself as best as he could.

 

The cuts made him start to breathe heavily, panting and his lower lip bled with how hard he kept biting to stop himself from screaming. His hazel eyes saw the pliers, he saw it grip and dig at the skin before he forced himself to look away.

 

As the skin ripped, Charles arched up and screamed loudly in pain. He choked back a sob and swallowed painfully while sagging and breathing heavy and quickly.

 

The assassin wrapped the strip of skin around his finger, tugging gently. "Good. Let it hurt. Understand this is only the beginning." He yanked the torn flesh again. "You will beg me for death. You will thank me as I stamp the last bit of life from you." He loomed closer over Ofdensen, letting go of the skin. "And if you are very lucky, I might fuck your corpse."

 

Loudly gasping and panting harshly when the other tugged on the skin, Charles squirmed and bit more on the new grooves inside of his lower lip while the other spoke, yanked again and then loomed too close. The manager flicked his eyes up to the Assassin and sagged again when the other man let go of his skin. Charles felt sick at the next sentence uttered out though, he let saliva build in the back of his mouth before spitting harshly at the Assassin’s face again. “When I get out of here,” Charles talked as evenly as he could, but there were tremors in his voice. “You’re going to fucking pay.”

 

This time, the spit peaked his anger. The assassin wiped his face, sneering down at Charles. "You won't get out. Make peace with that now. If you spit at me again, I'll cut out your tongue." Another strip of flesh was torn away before he replaced the pliers on the rack, rinsed his hands in a shallow basin. Drying them, he returned with a cattle prod, jamming it into the crook of Ofdensen’s elbow. The loud pop and crackle of electricity echoed around the concrete walls.

 

He was smug, he took the victories he could and Charles looked downright smug when the Assassin got that look on his face. Good. He was angering the man and it meant that he would get more sloppy and slip up—Charles inhaled loudly, screaming in his throat and tears quickly rolled down his face as the skin was forced away from his body. Charles tried to put himself back together in the time that the Assassin was washing his hands and turned away from the manager—he shifted and regretted it as he applied pressure onto his broken pinky finger.

 

His eyes flicked up when the other man came back, he saw the cattle prod and inhaled, readying himself as much as he could as the prod was placed against his elbow. Followed by the electricity echoing was Charles’ screaming, he convulsed on the hand truck before going limp. Shame rushed to his cheeks as he came to the swift realization he pissed himself—what a fucking joke.

 

The look of shame surprised him. He had expected a tighter control, but there the emotion was, over a little piss. Perhaps psychological torture would yield more rewarding results than he had expected. Jabbing him one more time with the prod, this time in the side, he grabbed one of the discarded hoods and pushed it over Ofdensen’s face, the eye holes on the backside. Rummaging loudly through his tools, he found a screwdriver with a thick handle, grabbed it by its end, and dipped the handle into the open vat of Vaseline he used to stem bleeding.

 

Walking behind Ofdensen, he tapped the prod briefly against the back of his leg before cramming the screwdriver handle up his ass. With a strip of duct tape, he secured the sharp end to the inside of Ofdensen’s leg, then hit him with the prod again on his calf.

 

The pause had given Charles time to start trying to build his defenses up again, but the next jab and shock to the side caused him to lock up and groan loudly involuntarily. When the world went black, he tried not to let it get to him with much more success than he was expecting—he exhaled as evenly as possible and tested the strength of the bonds on his legs and arms again. He stopped after a second, really listening out to what the Assassin was doing but it proved fruitless.

 

The Assassin stepped around him and jolted him, he tensed up which only made what happened next, worse. Charles screamed loudly as the handle was shoved into him. He trembled as the sharp end was tapped to him. Fuck—Fuck! The Assassin was _fucking_ sick and before he could think of anything else to say or do, he felt the electricity run through him again, as he froze up and then twitched, the sharp end dug into his skin.

 

When the current stopped flowing through him, he sagged against the restraints and bit harshly on the hood trying to get as much of it into his mouth as possible so he could get it off.

 

Circling the restrained man, the other examined his work. An idea seeded in his mind and he considered a few different methods. Getting a bit of Vaseline on his forefinger, he rubbed clinically at the underside of Ofdensen’s exposed cock, concentrating just under the head. "You were enjoying this before. I could do anything I wanted to you." He prodded at the slit for a moment, going back to the frenulum, then tugged at the two thin strips of flesh hanging from Ofdensen’s chest.

 

There was silence after he sagged—Charles wasn’t sure how to feel about the silence. He had too much silence in his lifetime before meeting Dethklok. He shifted as soon as he felt the finger on his cock and he’s immediately glad for the hood, his cheeks heating up while he trembled, his will power holding strong against trying to get more pleasure. Charles swallowed thickly as he heard what the Assassin say, the man had already done so much damage to the manager and Charles hadn’t been here for very long. Or so he assumed.

 

Grimacing when he felt the finger prodding at his slit, he clenched harshly on the fabric while trying to focus on keeping his breathing. The feeling of the skin being pulled caused him to shout, he’s thankful for the self-indulged gag in his mouth as it stopped most of his sounds. Sadly, at the pain and the pleasure, his cock leaked furiously and he hated himself for even feeling turned on. He wondered how terrible he looked before crushing the thought, Charles had to keep trying to build his walls so he wouldn’t break. No matter how much he wanted to.

 

The reaction interested the assassin. It was strange, more forceful than he had encountered before. "As a man, I feel like perhaps I should let you use your balls one last time before I take them from you." He tugged harshly at the sac, pulling at the fishing line. "What strange secrets you must keep, that this makes you so needy." Curious, he tugged the tape away from the screwdriver's end, grasping it and pulling it partiality out, then shoving it back in, repeating this a few more times.

 

He froze at what came out of the Assassin’s mouth. When he felt the harsh tug, he jolted and tried to shy away from the other man. Last time? This man really did believe that Charles was going to die. He swallowed some of the saliva that had been building and gathering in his mouth just as the tape was ripped from his skin, jostling the screwdriver in his ass and making his skin prickle a little on his arms. Charles visibly tensed when he felt the tool being pulled out but quickly tried to relax, to make this a little easier on himself just before it was shoved back in. Pleasure and pain danced together, shooting up his spine and straight into his cock as he tried his hardest not to let this get to him—he kept trying to get the hood to come off biting more into his mouth before letting most of it out.

 

When the handle hit his prostate, he nearly went cross-eyed and keened loudly while subconsciously pushing back against the tool. “Mmph—” followed by a short and swift string of swears escaped his muffled mouth.

 

This was almost too easy. He could hardly believe the way Ofdensen’s body reacted. Leaving the screwdriver in him, he stood, going back to his tools, looking around. After a moment he left, pushing past the tarp hung from the ceiling and went upstairs. After several minutes, he returned. One of the Klokateers had a personal thermos in the Jeep. It was perfect: long and made of stainless steel, with a domed, flush cap. It wasn't savagely thick, his fingers could close all the way around it, but he'd make it fit, either way. He slathered the top half in Vaseline, pulled free the screwdriverscrewdriver, and began to push the rounded end of the thermos against Ofdensen’s sphincter.

 

God he felt pathetic, he relaxed and immediately picked up work on the hood again as soon as the Assassin walked away from him. He heard the other man move more, then pull back—tarp? to walk away. Charles worked quicker, leaving a nearly drooling mess on his chin and neck now and when the Assassin got back, he stopped. He listened to the weird wet sound before the screw driver was pulled free, a quiet sigh escaped his throat but as soon as he felt something bigger press against him, his eyes went wide and he panicked.

 

He could feel it push in more, pushing past the muscles and Charles choked harshly on the cloth in his mouth, biting down on it. He was a shaking mess by the time the round end was able to enter him, his shoulders shaking and his head bowed while his cock leaked and he was quietly crying. It was severely hard for Charles to keep himself from begging for this to stop.

 

The assassin pushed in quiet concentration, turning the thermos, working it in a few inches. The shaking shoulders was so familiar, he had to see. He pulled the cold metal free, set it on the ground, and pulled off Charles' hood. The tears made him sigh. "You're easy to break. It's almost disappointing."

 

The light made him blink, he was crying and it hurt but he quickly came up with a way to stumble the other man, yet again. “More.” Charles begged, “I need more please.” He whimpered and writhed as much as he could. “Give me more.”

 

Not fooled, but deciding to continue for his own reasons, the assassin returned to the back of the hand truck, picking the thermos back up and beginning to push it in again roughly. It was no more pleasurable or intimate for him than semen collection with farm animals. It was a task, one he hoped would wear Offdensen down even more.

 

It hurt, every single inch of him ached and throbbed but he had to make the Assassin focus on something other than ripping his skin off or breaking Charles’ fingers or toes. This is the type of pain he could take with ease, with more stride than being fucking *skinned*. He whimpered loudly as soon as he felt the rather large object being forced right back into him, his stomach clenching as more of the object shoved in. As much as it hurt, it _still_ felt good. He writhed, “fuck.” He exhaled quietly and hated the fact he couldn’t have the hood anymore. It would have been able to stop him from talking.

 

Once the long cylinder of metal was inside, the assassin made no hesitation before he began to thrust it in and out. "Your body betrays you. This hardly feels like torture." But there was more in store. Once he'd broken his mind, he'd go back to breaking his body.

 

Gripping his hands into fists, he tensed, the whole thing practically inside of him and it hurt. His muscles were practically screaming with agony and as soon as the Assassin was starting to move the large object in and out of him, Charles’ shoulders shook again. There was only so much pleasure to be had from this and he took it—He exhaled hotly, twisting his head as much as he could before closing his eyes tightly, letting himself relax into it. “You, _ahh_ —” He was cut off as the large object hit his goddamn prostate, “forget that… I originally got fucking hard off of you breaking my finger.” He spat in a petulant tone.

 

The assassin made a gruff noise and shoved the thermos back in, only an inch or two remaining out of him. He circled Ofdensen and stood over him, sneering. "You get off on pain? You know there's one more of them"--he pointed to the corpses behind him--"alive. Perhaps I should torture them instead? Make you watch." It wasn't the best idea he’d had all day, but this wasn't exactly going as planned. Maybe it was time to start removing limbs, dislocating joints... he rubbed at the head of Ofdensen’s cock again, the switchblade back in his hand. "Or I can neuter you. No pleasure, then."

 

Arching his back when the object was shoved back in, he panted and whimpered when it all stopped. God, he had been close. Charles glanced upward, under his eyelashes toward the bigger man and quickly stopped himself from getting smug because he can _hear_ just how annoyed he was. Glancing at one of the corpses, Charles stopped himself from rolling his eyes. These men had been tortured already, by Charles’ own hand at least once and he was fairly certain that they didn’t care. It hurt, yes, but he could mourn later. Although, the hand on his cock made him squirm and inhale sharply. “N-not my men.” He said in a trembling tone, the stimulation on his cockhead making it hard to keep an even tone.

 

The assassin's fingers moved at an even, steady pace. "That one's a woman." Either way, he scrapped the idea for now, watching Ofdensen squirm. He needed to know when he was close, he didn't like surprises. There had been enough already.

 

Right, 657—she had been with them today. Charles shifted and bit his lower lip, quickly skirting a glance over the other man’s body before flushing at his own naughty thoughts. “So what, this—ahh, fuck.” Charles groaned, clenching his muscles around the object in his ass, (god what the fuck was it?) and tried to clear his mind, “this is your… big fucking revenge?” He asked before laughing breathlessly, his hips jerking a little. He tilted his head and hid it as much as he could. “Good job—f…fucking getting me off.”

 

A surge of rage coursed up through him, his hands going to Ofdensen’s arm, one gripping above the elbow, the other below. He twisted, pulled, and tore the joint apart, growling. "Now we are a little more even. My revenge will come when you are lifeless pulp."

 

At the question, the way the other looked, Charles was smug. He let himself be smug before both hands were on his left arm—he braced himself quickly, staring hard at the Assassin’s face. As soon as the joint was torn apart, Charles screamed and slumped as much as he could. Fuck, fuck fuck this was _bad_. He wouldn’t be able to use his left arm when he escaped and he prayed to whatever deities that were out there that his Elite soldiers would get here soon. And before the thing went too far up into his ass because he did **not** want to get surgery for that done. God he must be a fucking mess. “Your revenge is a joke. You’re a fucking joke.”

 

"Then why aren't you **l a u g h i n g**?" He sidestepped to get behind the hand truck again, fucking Ofdensen angrily with the cylinder. "Your death will cripple Dethklok. They will collapse under their own foolishness. It nearly happened before, but you wouldn't stay dead. I won't let that happen again."

 

Good. It was working, the Assassin was getting pissed at Charles and he was going to slip up. The rough fucking had him gripping his good arm and he kept trying to test the duct tape on his legs. The Assassin spoke, Charles barely paid him any mind because it was just shit he was spewing, a mere fantasy that would never come to be. Charles keened loudly, followed by a gasping whine, the cylinder was getting hard to force deeper into the manager, he was about to ride through his orgasm. He exhaled and then laughed, low and breathless—but he still laughed.

 

Restraining himself from ripping Ofdensen apart immediately, the assassin forced the cylinder faster, growling. "Enjoy this. It will be your last time intact." He could not admit it, barely understood it, but he **needed** Ofdensen to feel the shame of cumming from his hand, of being forced to the brink. After that, the pain would start again.

 

His laugh choked out into a low moan, he was doing all he could to battle off his own orgasm in any way possible before it just built too much, hitting him hard. Charles tossed his head back, his muscles clenching and pain quickly coming to the forefront of pleasure but it still didn’t stop him as he came—he rolled through his orgasm with as much hip movements as he could. As soon as he started to come down from the quick, not really that great orgasm, he felt mild shame sit in his stomach but he really decided he could dwell on his shame later. “Got a smoke?” He asked a moment later.

 

Once Ofdensen was cumming, the assassin pulled the thermos out of him, discarding it. He ignored the cheeky bullshit and went to his tools, standing before Ofdensen and pulling the fishing line around his balls tighter, securing it with a small lead weight. He then grabbed the scrotum and pulled it away from Ofdensen’s body, placing the switchblade under the stretched skin, and quickly cutting the whole of it away.

 

He heard the object be discarded and as much as he could, he glanced at the object and then looked at the Assassin as he walked around, he saw the blade and stared at it, hesitating because he didn’t know what the other man had planned. When he felt the hands on his balls, his heart froze and the world got way too black way too quick. Charles blinked rapidly, barely watching and when _his own balls_ were pulled away from his body, he just couldn’t keep conscious anymore… maybe that was a good thing.

 

The assassin watched the hole bleed for a moment, making sure he wouldn't bleed out, tossing the now useless orbs of flesh off into a corner. He went back to the rack to find smelling salts, wanting him awake, when the first shot buzzed past his ear. A dozen Klokateers charged into the basement, rifles raised. Fuck--he must have missed a tracker somewhere, perhaps in the Jeep. He couldn't let Ofdensen get away alive this time, not again. Grabbing the machete, he hacked through two hooded soldiers, screaming wordless rage as a medic team was already surrounding the hand truck, carrying it off like a gurney with Ofdensen still attached.

 

They were better trained than last time... he heard the chopper, knew he'd lost his revenge... **again**. The Klokateers clearly had orders to capture him, not kill. They wanted information. They would get nothing. Charging at the rifle-barrels, he charged up the stairs, roaring at the helicopter taking Ofdensen to safety, and made his own escape.


End file.
